In Her Shadow
by RinoaTifa
Summary: One-shot. Alistair has always been humble, but showing humility can be both a positive and a negative, and time can have a peculiar way of twisting how those involved in even the most epic of tales are perceived.


**Title**: In Her Shadow

**Author**: RinoaTifa

**Summary**: Showing humility can be both a positive and a negative, and time can have a peculiar way of twisting how those involved in even the most epic of tales are perceived.

**Author's Note**: This was written as part of a Heavenly Virtues series on LJ, under the prompt of humility.

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'Humility does not mean thinking less of yourself than of other people, nor does it mean having a low opinion of your own gifts. It means freedom from thinking about yourself at all.' ~** William Temple**

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The greatest stories continue to be told long after those who feature in them have met their end, and those of the Dragon Age have truly stood the test of time by continuing to capture the imagination of many a storyteller.

Tales are still told of the Warden Commander, the Hero of Ferelden, who stood fearlessly before the full force of the Blight. They tell of how she was brave, noble and, above all, a leader.

They tell of her origin: a noblewoman, loving and beloved, and the privileged upbringing she had. She was raised to be all things to all people – a warrior, a lady, a tactician, a diplomat – and excelled in all areas. They tell of that tragic night, when treachery and deceit led to almost all she had being ripped from her. Of how she survived. Of how when invited to join the Wardens, she accepted, wishing to wreak her bloody vengeance on those who had wronged her.

Bards still sing of her exploits. How through a combination of skill and luck she survived Ostagar, and how she went on to unite nations, free villages, end wars, save lives and face the archdemon. How, even with the burden of leadership and what she must do weighing heavy on her shoulders, she took the time to aid those who travelled with her however she could. There are those that believe she even went so far as to find and return the soul of a ferocious qunari warrior, who before had been feral and vicious, instantly becoming tame and obedient as a mabari pup once she had given it back to him. Others say this is nonsense, as everyone knows the quanari do not have souls.

It is said that she loved passionately and ferociously, but only one person ever truly succeeded in capturing her heart. Their name has been lost to the mists of time, yet it is believed that after their death she loved no other again.

Some even claim that it was she who quelled the threat of civil war in Ferelden, bringing peace by championing a new ruler who in turn went on to unite the Landsmeet and the people. All agree that she performed admirably the duty of a Grey Warden, gathering together an army to fight the darkspawn the likes of which had not been seen for many generations.

It is also common knowledge that on the eve of that fateful battle she was offered a choice, though how it came about and the form it took remain matters of much debate. Her refusal to accept an alternate method of slaying the archdemon is seen by many as an act of supreme selflessness; to others, an example of how even the greatest of heroes can fall victim to their hubris.

When she died, thousands mourned the great and powerful Grey Warden, and it is said that their tears flowed as vast as the Amaranthine Ocean. She was immortalised forever as a statue, remaining visible and vigilant for all to see, and after all this time she remains there still.

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Though the greatest stories never truly fade, time is a tricky spirit, and has a way of manipulating them to its own ends, whatever they made be. Occasionally it does the reader well to consider that sometimes, for some reason, the most interesting stories are those not of the obvious leader but of the unseen follower.

No tales are told of the other Grey Warden, the almost-Templar, who stood faithfully beside his companion until the end. They do not know that he was good, kind and, above all, humble.

None know of his origin: abandoned, unloved and alone, with even those who cared for him most resigning him to live in the barn like an animal. He was raised to be invisible – a dirty little secret, swept under the rug and forgotten – but he couldn't even get that right. They do not know that when he was told he had to give up everything he had and join the Chantry, he felt no remorse, as he did not believed he'd had anything to begin with. Of how he endured this life he had never asked for. Of how when asked by the man he later came to view as the father he had never had to join the Wardens, he wept and tried to refuse, believing himself unworthy to be counted amongst their numbers.

His journeys have been forgotten. How he froze when first called to take up the mantle of leadership, and the shame he felt at his own relief when another shouldered that burden. How he did what was asked of him, blindly and unquestioningly, anything to aid the woman who had saved him from the responsibilities he did not believe himself capable of performing. More than any, he had understood the weight of that particular burden, and was never once conceited enough to consider himself capable of rising to that challenge. There are none that are aware of how he tracked down his only living relative, to warn her of what was coming and, despite being cruelly rejected, how he sold the few small trinkets he had claimed for himself and returned, alone, that evening to give her what little he could.

It is not known that he loved only once, purely and truly. From the moment he laid eyes on the Warden Commander he was hers, utterly, and he was entirely devoted to her in every way imaginable. And when he discovered one night that his tent was not the only one she chose to frequent, and when he found the rose he had given to her among the discarded debris of their abandoned camp, he chose to say nothing. He was no fool; he had never expected her to need him the way he did her. But the illusion that it was so was a beautiful one, and sometimes it was all that kept him walking along the long, dark path she was leading him down.

Some recall that it was a king and queen who were placed on the throne together by the Hero of Ferelden, but few know that the king was a Grey Warden in his own right. None acknowledge that he performed admirably the duties of a ruler, even though it meant accepting a birthright he had spent his life hiding from, a role he had never wanted, and marrying a woman he could not ever possibly love.

Moments of weakness are rarely preserved in epic tales, where the heroes are so often made out to be larger than life, and so the Hero of Ferelden's confession that she believed she had made a mistake rejecting the offer of a way out, a few hours later on that fateful night, has been forgotten or ignored. It is possible that none ever knew of that moment of self-doubt except for him, and as he held her weeping form in his arms, he couldn't help but be grateful that he had not been asked to perform this particular duty; a small part of him, however, acknowledged that had she asked, he would have done so in a heartbeat.

When he died, thousands celebrated the end of the Blight but few realised whose sacrifice was responsible for their victory. The Warden Commander fought hard to see him immortalised via monuments, songs and word-of-mouth, but this was one battle she found that she could not win, and eventually he slipped back into her shadow, forgotten, and after all this time he remains there still.


End file.
